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MAX GRIMM, 


-VERY BEST 


SC.VCR*PIPE 


-->>WHOLESALE AND RETAIL.^<^ 

157 River St., TROY, H. Y. 

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^cas, Coffees, ^^ices. 

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Cor. Jacol) Street and Sixtli Avenue, 


TROY, N, Y. 





f 


I , k 

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• / I 


LcObA. 



JOHN A. ORIKKIN, 

TROY, N. Y. 


OF 

cQ?y right % 

FEB 81 ’';90 

^^"INGTOVi ^ 


PUBLISHED BY THE AUTHOR, 


Copyright, 1890, 
BY John A. Griffin. 


CONTENTS. 


Chapter I. 

PAGE. 

The Ruined Earl, .... 

. 11-18 

Chapter II. 


The Lawyer’s Proposition, 

19-28 

Chapter III. 


Leola, 

. 29-31 

Chapter IV. 


Lady Rose Voilaine, 

32-37 

Chapter V. 


Leola’ s Marriage, .... 

. 38-41 

Chapter VI. 


The Duke of Montrose, . 

42-47 

Chapter VII. 


Their Tour in Italy and America, 

. 48-53 


Chapter VIII. 
Lord Harry Ray, 


54-60 


X 

The Duel, 

CONTENTS. 

Chapter IX. 

. 61-64 

Remorse, . 

Chapter X. 

65-71 

His Wife, . 

Chapter XI. 

. 72-77 

The Ball, . 

Chapter XII. 

78-88 

Lady Voilaine’ 

Chapter XIII. 

s Repentance, 

. 89-91 

Chapter XIY. 

All is Well that Ends Well, 

. 92-100 


CHAPTER I. 

THE KUIHED EAKL. 

“ I LAUGH at fate, or the notion of anything 
like it,’' said Yane St. Claire. 

‘‘I believe in it, and I tremble to hear you 
scoff at its power,” said Hugh Gaynor, a 
young solicitor, as he sat in his office in the 
busy city of London, talking to his friend. 
Vane St. Claire. 

“You believe in it ? What is it ? Where is 
the logic of such a belief ? ” 

“ I can scarcely answer your questions fully. 
Fate is circumstance — circumstance is fate. 
The logic in it — you ask for that? it is the 
logic of events. It is the very soul of history.” 

“What is the soul of history — fate or cir- 
cumstance ? ” 

“Either — both. They mean the same thing. 
Little things and great things are too closely 
connected in this world of ours to make it safe 
to say that there may not be an invisible 
thread binding together events which seem 
remote in time or space. Do you hear that 
step on the pavement outside? Among the 


12 


LEOLA. 


thousands of persons in our great city, the one 
who passes now is doubtless a man you have 
never seen. He is probably a man you never 
will see. You know not his name, nor he 
yours. He is almost passed. He has been so 
near that a shout would have made him pause. 
A cry for help would have brought him to us. 
The restless tide of life of our great city will 
swallow him up in a few seconds.” At that 
moment the door of the room opened, and the 
lawyer’s clerk announced, 

“ Lord Lyde, sir.” 

“I am ready to see him,” was the reply. 
“ Good day, Gaynor, we will finish our argu- 
ment on fate some other time,” Vane replied 
as he departed. 

“ Am I too soon ? ” asked a loud, clear voice. 

Hugh Gaynor looked up with a smile at the 
speaker. 

“No, my lord ; I was expecting you.” 

The clerk placed a chair, and at a signal 
from his master quitted the room. 

But Lord Lyde declined the proffered seat. 
He stood by the chair leaning with careless 
grace upon it. 

“ I suppose,” he said, “ that I should furnish 


LEOLA. 


13 


an excellent warning as a lesson for all bad 
boys.” 

“Yon would, my lord,” was the grave reply. 

Hugh Gaynor looked at the speaker. There 
was something of admiration, of pity, and of 
contempt, in the long, lingering glance of those 
shrewd eyes ; yet he could not have looked at 
a handsomer face or figure than that of Lord 
Lyde. 

Handsome, with a haggard kind of beauty 
that told its own story — that told of days and 
nights spent in wild dissipation — told of 
prodigal habits, told of an idle, purposeless 
life, of a nature spoiled and vitiated. The 
head was well shaped and proudly set ; it was 
covered with clusters of dark hair, waving in 
lines of perfect beauty from a broad, white 
brow. The face itself was clearly cut, with 
handsome features, dark blue eyes, straight 
brows. The figure was tall, well knit, finely 
formed. 

The Earl of Lyde, as he stood awaiting his 
sentence, was a handsome and comely English- 
man, retaining much of his former strength 
and vigor, although he had done his best to 
destroy them. 

There was no trembling in his manner, no 


14 


LEOLA. 


hesitation. His easy grace and nonchalance 
did not desert him even while he listened to 
words that must sound terrible to him. 

“Now, Mr. Gaynor,” he said at last with 
haughty impatience, “there is no need to keep 
the ax suspended over my head ; tell me the 
worst at once.’’ 

“The worst, my lord, is utter ruin — ruin so 
complete that I do not see a chance of saving 
one shilling from the wreck.” 

The Earl listened quite calmly; his lips grew 
a trifle paler — but there was no flinching in 
the noble, handsome, haggard face. 

“Utter ruin,” he repeated. 

“True, my lord,” assented the lawyer. 

“You see no loop — you can suggest noth- 
ing?” 

“Every loophole is closed, my lord,” was 
the brief reply. 

“And you are sure. Gay nor, that there is 
nothing left on which I can borrow money — 
nothing more that I can mortgage?” 

“Quite sure, my lord.” 

“Tell me, Gaynor, how I stand.” 

Hugh Gaynor, the calm, shrewd, inscrutable 
man of business, looked at the Earl — perhaps 
he wondered at his perfect calmness. Then he 


LEOLA. 


15 


glanced at the sheet of paper lying on his 
desk. 

“It will not be pleasant to hear, Lord 
Lyde,” he said slowly, “but you ask for it. 
To begin : At the age of forty-five, after your 
father’s death, you succeeded to the Lydewood 
estates and title ; the estates were clear of all 
debts and incumbrances ; the rent-roll was 
fifty thousand per annum ; there was besides 
a sum of sixty thousand pounds in the funds, 
the savings of the late Earl — that is correct, I 
believe ? ” 

“ Quite so,” was the reply. 

“You are now fifty-seven years of age, my 
lord, and in twelve years you have run through 
a fine fortune.” 

“Keep to facts, no comments,” said the 
Earl. 

“The sixty thousand went to pay your 
losses on the race track the first year. After 
that you continually forestalled your income 
by borrowing money; then your losses on the 
turf and gaming-table were so great that you 
were compelled to raise a heavy mortgage on 
the estate ; then you borrowed money on the 
pictures, the plate and furniture at Lydewood. 
In fact, my lord, briefly told, your situation is 


16 


LEOLA. 


this — you are hopelessly, helplessly ruined. 
You owe seventy thousand pounds mortgage 
money and fifty thousand pounds borrowed 
money — and you have nothing to pay it with. 
You received notice from me five months 
since that the mortgage money was called in. 
Unless it is paid in two weeks from now, the 
estate — Lydewood Castle with all its belong- 
ings — passes from you ; it will be seized with 
all it contains.” 

“Then unless I pay the seventy thousand 
pounds in two weeks, Lydewood becomes the 
property of the man who lent the money ? ’ ’ 
“Just so,” replied Hugh Gay nor. 

“ Then I hope he will live to enjoy it, for I 
have not seventy pounds to pay it with ” 
“Hush,” he continued, seeing that the law- 
yer was about to speak — “no comments ! I am 
a ruined man, as you say ; but I will not sub- 
mit to criticism. It is all over now, and I have 
the price of my folly to pay.” 

“May I ask what you think of doing?” 
“My lord, you may ask — I know no answer, 
if it were not for my daughter, Leola, who is 
dying, and who has no one to provide for her 
when I am gone, I would not care what would 
become of me ; in two weeks I lose Lyde- 


LEOLA. 


17 


wood, and with it all source of income, and 
besides that, I am fifty thousand pounds in 
debt. It seems to me there is but one thing to 
be done.” 

Hugh Gaynor looked up anxiously ; “ What 
is that,” he asked. had better invest the 
trifle I have remaining in the purchase of a 
revolver — you can imagine for what purpose ; 
it will be but a fit ending to such a career as 
mine. What comments the newspapers will 
make upon me ! They will head their para- 
graph, ‘Suicide of a Spendthrift Earl’ — they 
will draw excellent morals from my fate ; it 
will not be a noble ending for the last of the 
Lydes.” 

“ It will not indeed,” said Hugh Gaynor. 

“There is nothing for it but the revolver. I 
cannot beg, I cannot work, Leola is dying by 
inches, she cannot hold out much longer. Yes, 
Gaynor, I will live until I place my child 
beside her mother, then I will come and say 
good bye to you forever,” 

He spoke calmly, as though he was arrang- 
ing some plan of travel. Hugh Gaynor looked 
admiringly at him. “ How this blue blood 
tells,” thought the lawyer. “ Some men would 
have cried and have asked for pity and for 


18 


LEOLA. 


time. He faces ruin as much as his ancestors 
faced death on the battle field.” 

Then seeing the Earl’s eyes fixed on him, he 
said : “ It is a sorry ending, my lord.” 

“Yes, a sorry ending for the last of the 
Lydes. There is nothing for it Gaynor but 
the revolver. I have lived like a king. I have 
spent royally — I have given royally, too ; but 
that does not matter. I have done good as I 
believed ; I have gambled and betted ; I have 
poured out wealth like water under my feet. 
Now it is over ; it has been a short life, but a 
merry one. I could not count shillings and 
pounds ; I loath the name and thought of 
poverty ; as I lived, so I must die. I deserve 
no better fate.” 


CHAPTER II. 

THE lawyer’s proposition. 

Hugh Gaynor looked at the calm, hand- 
some face. “ You do not seriously mean that 
you will take your own life, my lord?” he in- 
terrogated. 

“It seems the only thing left for me to do,” 
replied the Earl. 

“Will you listen to me. Lord Lyde — listen 
in patience ? I have something to say.” 

The lawyer was so earnest, so intent that he 
carried the other’s weaker will with him. 

“Before telling you anything further, my 
lord, I need to remind you, that since my 
father’s death, and since I have had charge of 
your legal affairs, I have been a good friend to 
you. The honor of your name is as dear to 
me as to you.” 

“Very well! Very well!” 

“Do not forget that your duty to your 
daughter requires a little sacrifice on your 
part, and if you are willing to make this sacri- 
fice, I can save your name, and your fortune, 
and I pledge myself to do it, provided you 
furnish me the means.” 


20 


LEOLA. 


“ The devil ! it is for you to furnish them to 
me. You speak in riddles. 

To the point, Graynor, to the point.’’ 

“ I have come to it Have you ever met the 
Duke of Montrose in London ? ” 

“The one with white horses ? ” 

“ Precisely.” 

“The finest team in London.” 

“Norbert, Duke of Montrose, is the last 
scion of a noble English family. His fortune 
is the largest in the whole of England ; he is 
thirty-four years of age, and has a handsome 
face, a finished education, an honorable char- 
acter — ” 

“And also a mistress. Lady Rose Yoilaine,” 
interrogated Lord Lyde. 

“ Since you know that, you shorten the way 
for me. For reasons which would be too long 
to relate, the Duke wishes to marry according 
to his rank into one of the most illustrious 
families of England. He cares so little for 
fortune, that he will secure to his father-in- 
law an income of sixty thousand pounds. The 
father-in-law whom he wishes is yourself. He 
has charged me to sound your inclinations ; if 
you say yes, he will go to you to-day to ask 
the hand of your daughter in marriage, and 


LEOLA. 


21 


the ceremony will be performed in ten days.” 

This time Lord Lyde took a step or two 
nearer and stared the lawyer full in the face. 

“You are not insane ? ” he cried ; “ you are 
not mocking me? You cannot forget that I 
am the Earl of Lydewood and nearly double 
your age ? Is this really true that you have 
told me ?” 

“The precise truth.” 

“ But he does not know, then, Leola is ill ?” 

“He knows it.” 

“Dying?” 

“ He knows it.” 

“Given over?” 

“ He knows it. 

A cloud passed over the features of the Earl. 
He seated himself for the first time since he 
entered the lawyer’s office, leaned his elbows 
on his knees, and buried his face in his hands. 

“This is unnatural,” resumed he; “you 
have not told me all. The Duke of Montrose 
must have some secret motive for asking the 
hand of a corpse.” 

“It is true,” returned the lawyer. “It is a 
long story to relate. You have seen Lady 
Voilaine. She is a beautiful woman. When 
she arrived in London first she raised such a 


22 


LEOLA. 


dust in the park that you would have said 
that the queen of hearts had just landed in 
London. In less than a year she had made 
people talk of her horses, her dresses and her 
furniture, while no one could pronounce posi- 
tively concerning her conduct.’’ 

“Have we come to the point now?” de- 
manded the Earl. 

“ A moment’s patience. Lady Yoilaine had 
singled out Montrose for some time. She 
occupied the next box to him at the theatre, 
and she glanced at him with such eyes that he 
soon procured an introduction to her house. 

“Everyone will tell you her drawing-room is 
one of the most agreeable in London. The 
duke fell passionately in love with her through 
the same spirit of emulation that had destroyed 
so many before him ; he adored her the more 
blindly that she had a husband, and seemed to 
yield to an irresistible penchant which threw 
her into his arms. The most intelligent man 
suffers himself to be taken by such bait, and 
there is no scepticism that can hold out against 
the semblance of real love. Montrose is not an 
inexperienced youth ; if he had divined an 
interested motive he would have put himself 
on his guard, but the cunning actress pushed 


LEOLA. 


23 


artifice even to heroism. She exhausted her 
treasury and expended her last dollar in mak- 
ing the duke believe that she loved him, for 
himself alone. She even exposed her reputa- 
tion, of which she had taken so much care, and 
she would have been foolishly compromised 
if good care had not been taken. 

“The Duchess, dowager of Montrose, a de- 
vout woman in her old age and dignity, was 
acquainted with the amours of her son, and 
found no fault with them. She liked better to 
see him attached to a woman of the world than 
lost in those dangerous pleasures in which one 
ruins and degrades himself. 

“ The delicacy of Lady Voilaine was so sensi- 
tive that Montrose could never succeed in giv- 
ing her a trifie. The first thing that she 
accepted was a check for twenty thousand 
pounds. She was then pregnant with a soh, 
who was born in the following September. 
Now, Lord Lyde, we are at the heart of the 
question. 

“The accouchment of Lady Yoilaine took 
place in Dorminister. Montrose, believing that 
everything was permitted to persons of his con- 
dition, wished to acknowledge the child at 
once. The eldest son of the family of Mon- 


24 


LEOLA. 


trose takes the title. I explained to him the 
legal axiom, and proved to him that his son 
could not take his name. Lady Voilaine ex- 
plained that her husband would certainly kill 
her if she attempted to impose on him this 
legal paternity. In short, Doctor Carlton 
registered the infant at the Mayoralty under 
the name of Conrad, born of unknown parents. 
The duke shared the knowledge of this event 
with the venerable duchess. She wished to 
see the child, ordered it brought to her, and 
has brought it up herself in her palace in 
G-rosvenor Square. 

“ He is now three years old ; he grows finely. 
The duke worships his son ; he cannot endure 
to see in him a nameless child, and, what is 
worse, an adulterine. Lady Voilaine would 
be a woman to remove mountains to secure to 
her heir the name and the fortune of Mont- 
rose. 

‘‘But the one most to be pitied is the poor 
Dowager. She foresees that the duke will not 
marry for fear of disinheriting his son, that he 
will turn his fortune into money to put it in 
his possession, and that he will sell the family 
estates, and that of this noble name and these 


LEOLA. 


25 


vast domains nothing will be left at the end of 
half a century. 

‘‘In this extremity Lady Voilaine was in- 
spired with a flash of genius. ‘Marry,’ said 
she to Montrose ; seek a wife from among the 
flrst nobility of England, and prevail on her 
in the marriage contract to recognize your 
child as her own. By this means Conrad will 
be your legitimate son, noble on the father’s 
side and also the mother’s side, and heir to all 
your possessions.’ ” 

“The duke has submitted this project to 
his mother, who will only be too anxious to 
approve of it. The noble woman has lost her 
illusions concerning Lady Yoilaine, who had 
cost Montrose nearly two millions. 

“ ‘You need not marry for any length of 
time, Norbert,’ Lady Yoilaine said, ‘Doctor 
Carlton will And you a wife among his incura- 
ble patients.’ The doctor spoke of your 
daughter to me, and therefore I have broached 
the subject to you. Lord Lyde. This marriage, 
strange as it may seem to you at flrst sight, 
and giving you as it does, a little grandson 
who is not of your blood, assures to Miss 
Leola a prolonged existence and a peaceful 
end.” 


^6 


LEOLA. 


“And it gives me an income of sixty thou- 
sand pounds, does it not? Well, my dear 
lawyer, I thank you ; tell the Duke of Mont- 
rose that I beg to be excused. My daughter 
may be to bury, but she is not to sell.” 

“Lord Lyde, it is true that it is a bargain 
that I propose to you, but if I believed it un- 
worthy an honorable man, I should not meddle 
with it. Observe, Lord Lyde, that the family 
of Montrose is worthy to be allied to yours. 
The world will have nothing to say.” 

“ The Duke of Montrose would suit me ex- 
actly under any other circumstances. But I 
do not want it to be said my daughter had a 
son three years old on her wedding day ! ” 

“No one will say anything — no one will 
know anything. No one will say anything ; 
the acknowledgment will be secret — and why 
should it be spoken of ? 

“Are they very complicated, these cere- 
monies of acknowledgment ? ” 

“There is no ceremony at all. A sentence 
in the marriage contract and the child is legal- 
ized.” 

“That is one sentence too many. Let us say 
no more about it.” 

Lord Lyde rose from his chair. The lawyer 


LEOLA. 


27 


grasped his hand. “Observe,” said he, “my 
friend, that whenever one lets a vein of good 
look escape him, it never returns.” 

“I understand, Gaynor. In refusing your 
propositions, I renounce all hope in the future. 

I condemn myself in perpetuity.” 

“Accept then, Lord Lyde, and do not chal- 
lenge adverse fortune, my lord ! I bring you 
ease for yourself, a tranquil and peaceful end 
for the poor child who is dying. I raise up 
your house, which is crumbling to dust ; I give 
you a grandson ready made, a magnificent 
child, who can join your name to that of his 
father, and all this at what price? In con- 
sideration of a sentence of two lines inserted in 
a marriage contract — yet you repulse me for a 
dealer in shame and a giver of evil counsels. 
You condemn yourself and your daughter to 
death rather than lend your name to a little 
stranger. You fancy that you would be guilty 
of high treason against the nobility ; but do 
you not know at what price the nobility has 
been preserved both in England and elsewhere 
for the last few centuries? We must admit 
reasons of state. How many times have names 
been preserved by a miracle or by address ? 

“ Almost all of them, my dear counsellor ; I 


LEOLA. 


could cite a dozen without going out of this 
street. While the lawyer urged him, Lord 
Lyde had been firm in his refusal. Now that 
he stood face to face with bitter, black ruin, 
shame and disgrace, with ignominy and death ; 
now that the urgent pleadings ceased, he at 
once began to waver. 

“Will you go down with me to Lydewood,’’ 
he said. “I will consult with my daughter, 
and I will abide by her decision.’’ 

“I will accompany you, my lord,” said the 
lawyer. 


CHAPTER III. 

LEOLA. 

“My cab is at the door,” continued the Earl. 

Without another word they started. Lord 
Lyde felt more decidedly ashamed of himself 
than he felt before, now that he had given his 
consent. It was one thing to be considered 
the greatest spendthrift of the day and an- 
other to purchase his safety by such a mar- 
riage as this. 

“I cannot do it,” he said to himself more 
than once. “It will only hasten my daugh- 
ter’s death, instead of prolonging it.” 

The lawyer on the whole was rather sur- 
prised when the cab stopped. He had never 
been to Lydewood Castle before. It was a far 
more beautiful place than he expected to see. 
A grand old mansion, surrounded by immense 
grounds, beautifully laid out. On this beauti- 
ful summer morning he saw nothing but beau- 
tiful sweet-scented flowers, beautiful lime 
trees, and the silvery spray of a dozen or 
more fountains dotted the landscape here and 
there. As they drove off the beautiful road 


30 


LEOLA. 


to the grand old mansion, Hugh Gaynor 
thought he never beheld a more beautiful 
scene. 

“Do you know I feel heartily ashamed of 
myself for bringing you here for such a pur- 
pose as this,’’ said Lord Lyde to the lawyer 
before getting out of the cab. 

Without another word the Earl entered the 
house, the lawyer following him. 

“How is Leola getting on ? Tell her I am 
coming in to speak to her immediately,” said 
Lord Lyde, addressing her maid. 

“She is feeling no better, my lord ; no better 
than when you left this morning.” 

Lord Lyde then told the lawyer to make 
himself as comfortable as possible, that he 
would not detain him long, and then left the 
room. He was gone a half hour or more. 
There was a sound of footsteps. Hugh Gay- 
nor rose hurriedly, the door swung open, and 
there stood the Earl of Lydewood and his 
child. 

“Here is my daughter,” he said. “She 
prefers to answer for herself. Leola, this is 
Mr. Gaynor.” 

Leola stood facing the lawyer. Her color- 
less face was like an effaced page. She was 


LEOLA. 


31 


clothed in white. She indeed resembled one 
who had arisen from the grave. The bright 
lustre of her large blue eyes was alone visible. 
A mass of golden hair clustered about her 
head, her transparent hands fell by her sides 
among the folds of her dress, and such was 
the emaciation of her whole person that she 
resembled one of those beautiful beings who 
have neither the beauties or the defects of 
earthly mortals. 

She spoke in a low, clear voice. 

“Mr. Gaynor,” she said, “I shall marry the 
Duke of Montrose and adopt the child of this 
lady. I thank you for having saved my 
father. The misconduct of these people will 
restore to him what he spent so foolishly. As 
for me, I shall do a good deed by giving a 
name to this little stranger. I know what I 
pledge myself in taking his name. But good 
heavens ! what would they say if I should 
play them the trick of recovering ? ” 

When the conversation was ended the law- 
yer arose. He bade them adieu and told 
them he was going to carry the glad tidings to 
the Duke of Montrose. 

“It is likely you will receive a visit from 
him to-morrow,” he replied. 


CHAPTER ly. 

LADY KOSE VOILAINE. 

Lady Rose Yoilaine sat in her drawing- 
room nestled in the depths of her luxurious 
chair with a novel open on her lap, and her 
long shining tresses unbound and hanging in a 
loose, rippled luxuriance, as the hair of a Gre- 
cian goddess. No toilet was so becoming as 
the Parisian texture with its profusion of lace 
about the arms and bosom, that she wore ; no 
sandals more bewitching than the slipper, em- 
broidered with gold and pearls, into which her 
small, beautiful shaped foot was encased ; no 
drawing-room in London could boast of being 
half as pretty or enticing as her own, 
with its rose-tendre hanging, its silver swing- 
ing lamps, its toilet table shrouded in lace, 
its superb mirrors, its gemmed vase full 
of beautiful flowers, its thousand things of 
luxury and grace. Here perhaps Rose Yoil- 
aine, who had rarest loveliness at all hours, 
looked her loveliest of all ; and here she sat 
now thinking, while the gaslight shone on the 
dazzling whiteness of her skin, on the depths 


LEOLA. 


33 


of her dark eyes, on the shining unbound 
tresses of her hair ; her thoughts might well be 
sunny ones. She was in the years of her youth 
and the height of her beauty. 

She had not a caprice she could not carry 
out, nor a wish she could not gratify. Her 
world, delirious with her fascination, let her 
rule it as she would, she was incensed with the 
bright incense of worship wherever she moved, 
and gave out life and death with her smile and 
her frown. From a station of obscurity, when 
her existence had threatened to pass away, her 
beauty had lifted her to a dazzling rank, and 
her tact had taught her to grace it, so that all 
bowed before her, so that in a thoroughbred, 
exclusive set she gave the law and made the 
fashion, and conquests unnumbered strewed 
her path thick as the falling leaves in autumn. 

Lady Voilaine made her first appearance in 
London some five years before. Society had 
been a little shy to receive this exquisite crea- 
ture. Come, none knew whence, born, no one 
knew where, the fashionable world conceived 
that Lord Voilaine had made a wretched mesal- 
liance ; Lord Voilaine being a man above re- 
proach as far as blood went. 

But the fashionable world in a very short 


34 


LEOLA. 


time gave way before lier. She cleared all 
obstacles, silenced all sneers. 

She became the mode By witchery, by the 
double right of her own fascination, and the 
dignity of her lord’s name. Lady Yoilaine was 
a power in the world of fashion, and acknowl- 
edged leader in her own sphere of pleasure and 
coquetry. As Lady Yoilaine sat, turning over 
and over the leaves of the book that rested on 
her lap, she spoke her thoughts half aloud — 
“ He could not resist me if I choose to wind 
him around my fingers. I should like to break 
down his pride. He is the first man that has 
ever crossed me. I would like to bow him 
down to what he defies me. No man living 
could defy me — not even — Lord Harry Hay.” 

It was late, the stars were shining, and the 
murmur of the waters flowing onward under the 
elm-woods was heard plaintively and monoton- 
ously sweet, as Lady Yoilaine, whose whim was 
every hour changing, and who laughed at all 
feeling one hour only to assume it most be- 
guilingly, the next, left her drawing-rooms 
and strolled out for a brief while in the sum- 
mer night. 

The white light of the stars fell about her, 
glancing on the saphires and diamonds that 


LEOLA. 


35 


glistened in her hair, or sparkled in her bosom, 
and shone in the depths of her dark eyes as 
she raised them and looked upward at the 
skies above. Presently she was joined by the 
Duke of Montrose. 

“ Norbert, ” she asked, “ What detained 
you? You are giving too much of your leis- 
ure hours to that charming bride of yours. I 
began to think you had made up your mind 
not to come. By the way, Norbert, she will 
not die before the ceremony takes place.” 

“ I must hurry it up, my darling,” he 
answered. 

He bent towards her and kissed her, and in 
the sultry stillness of the night they made a 
beautiful picture. She looked at him steadily ; 
he was somewhat like the heroes of old. He 
was tall, dark, very noble, with a stately, aristo- 
cratic, finely shaped head, large dark blue 
eyes, clear cut features, clear straight brows, 
his lips were well shaped, well hidden by a 
dark silken moustache. Her sweet mocking 
laugh rang in the air like the echo of a silver 
bell. 

“You must acknowledge but one love- 
power, and covet but one heart.” Her eyes 
laughed up into his, her hand touched his 


36 


LEOLA. 


own where it wandered among the roses. The 
sultry air of the night swept around them, 
only stirred by the dreamy splash of fountains 
and the rise and fall of her low breathing. 
He had no strength against her in such an 
hour as this, nor did he seek, or strive, or wish 
to have. 

Rose Yoilaine knew her power? In every 
iota ! She knew that this man, who held him- 
self above the soft foolery of passion, was en- 
tirely bent to her will — fast succumbing to her 
feet, to lie there bound, and powerless to free 
himself from bondage ; letting his life drift as 
she chose to guide it ; risking all, so long as 
he could look upward into her eyes, so long as 
her white hand would wander to his own. 
Knew her power ! Truly she did, and used it 
without mercy, without scruple. If ever 
woman loved, Montrose could have sworn she 
loved him then. He bent toward her, his 
breath fanned her hair, his hand touched hers 
where it rested among the flowers, and touched 
the diamond circlet, that chilled him as with 
the chill of ice. It recalled to him that this 
woman was Lord Voilaine’s wife. With a 
quick movement she turned to go inside, the 
jewels in her hair glancing in the starlight. 


LEOLA. 


37 


“Let us go in ! — we have given time enough 
to the night.” Then she laughed her gay, 
mocking laugh, and her eyes grew brighter as 
she glanced at him while he held back the 
heavy drapery of a window for her to re-enter 
the drawing-rooms. 

Montrose that night drank deeper than ever 
of the delirious draught of this woman’s 
witchery. He loathed more than ever the 
man who had bought her beauty with his 
gold, and claimed her by right of ownership, 
as he claimed his racing horse — he loathed him- 
self for having ate and slept beneath his roof, 
for being his guest, guest to the man he had 
hated with the dark hatred of the Montrose 
blood, which was ever stronger than their wis- 
dom and closer than their honor. Montrose, 
when once aroused, was a man of darker, 
deeper passions than the passions of most 
men, and the anger of his race was working in 
him, beneath the cold surface of habit and 
breeding. That night as he stood in the 
silence of his own chamber he thought Lady 
Voilaine more beautiful than ever, and hated 
more fiercely the man whose name she bore. 


CHAPTER V. 
leola’s markiage. 

The Duke of Montrose, as soon as he was 
informed by the lawyer that he had secured 
for him a wife, hastened at once to his mother’s 
house. The old duchess was a tall stout 
woman, very dignified, very stiff. She listened 
to the recital of her son with the rigid and dis- 
dainful condescension of the lofty virtues of 
her race. On his side the duke did not at- 
tempt to extenuate anything that was repre- 
hensible in his marriage calculations. These 
two persons, honorable by nature, but drawn 
by the force of circumstances into one of those 
slippery bargains which are sometimes con- 
cluded at London, thought of only the means 
of doing a thing worthily, which their ances- 
tors would not have done at all. 

The dowager did not spice the conversation 
with even a mute reproach — the time for remon- 
strance was past ; the only point in question 
was now to secure the future of the family by 
preserving the name of Montrose. 

When everything was arranged the duchess 


LEOLA. 


39 


entered her carriage and ordered her coachman 
to drive to Lydewood. The earl’s footman con- 
ducted her to the drawing-room, where Lord 
Lyde was sitting. The earl rose when she 
entered and asked her to be seated. 

The interview was solemn and cold. Lord 
Lyde could not bear any good will to those 
people who were speculating on the approach- 
ing death of his daughter ; the dowager dis- 
cussed the conditions of the marriage as a 
notary would have done, and when every point 
had been agreed upon she rose and said, in a 
metallic voice : 

“Lord Lyde, I have the honor to ask the 
hand of your daughter. Lady Leola Lyde, for 
Duke Norbert Montrose, my son.” 

“ The earl replied that his daughter was hon- 
ored by the choice of the duke.” 

The marriage day was fixed and the earl 
went in search of Leola to present her to the 
dowager. 

The poor child was frightened on being 
brought before this tall spectre of a woman. 
The duchess was pleased with her, spoke to her 
in a motherly way, saying to herself : “ What 
a pity she must die.” 

On her return the duchess found the duke 


40 


LEOLA. 


with his child on his knee, caressing and play- 
ing with him. 

The father and son formed an amusing tab- 
leau. The little boy was large of his age, very 
pretty, with ringlets of dark curly hair, large 
black eyes, and was shy to excess. In the year 
he had been separated from his nurse, he had 
seen but few people, the dowager had seques- 
tered herself for his sake — she made and 
received but very few visits, for fear of betray- 
ing the secret of the house. He called the old 
duchess Mama ; as to Lady Yoilaine, he knew 
her by sight ; he met her sometimes on an 
obscure road far from the streets frequented 
by the crowd, where she caressed the child 
stealthily and with sincere affection, often ex- 
claiming : “My poor darling, can I ever call 
thee mine ? ’’ 

The duchess informed her son that the pro- 
posal was made and accepted. 

The next morning the duchess accompanied 
her son to Lydewood and presented him to his 
new relatives. Leola fainted twice in his 
presence. The excitement was too much for 
her weak constitution. As for him, he felt ill 
at ease. Nevertheless, he found a few words 
of courtesy. He came every day without his 


LEOLA. 


41 


mother while the banns were being published. 
He brought her flowers, according to the estab- 
lished custom. These daily interviews embar- 
rassed him and fatigued Leola. On the day 
of the marriage Leola’ s wedding dress was 
brought her to try on. She gently submitted 
to the mournful mockery. These preparations 
wore a funeral sadness. 

The witnesses for Montrose were Sir Oswald 
Langton and Lord Chandos ; those of Leola 
were Lord Hampton and Hugh Gaynor. All 
the nobility had been invited to the ceremony. 
Despite the discretion of all the parties con- 
cerned, everybody suspected something; in 
any case it was a rare and curious spectacle, 
the marriage, of a dying girl. When the 
bride reached the church a large number of 
carriages had assembled. 

The bride was very pale and had to be sup- 
ported by her father. She advanced slowly to 
the altar, her father retaining her hand and 
walking on her left. After the ceremony a 
postchaise carried the travelers in the direction 
of Grosvenor Square. It was necessary to 
take the duchess and little Conrad, for Lord 
Lyde had decided to take his daughter to 
Italy. 


CHAPTER YI. 


THE DUKE OF MONTROSE. 

“I THINK Montrose is going to monopolize 
her forever,” said Lord Lennox, dropping his 
opera glasses one night at the opera in Lon- 
don. 

“He has kept the field quite a long time,” 
said his Grace of Thurston. 

“Lady Yoilaine is wonderfully faithful, 
and they say he is as mad after her now as 
when he first met her, five years ago. All 
London chatted itself hoarse over their liaison 
then ; what we want to know is — when will it 
come to an end?” 

“But the succession there is dangerous; a 
smile from her would cost a shot from him. 
Don’ t understand it myself, never should, but 
he is positively her slave,” says Lennox. 

“Plenty of you envy him his slavery,” 
laughed Lord Hampton. 

Those whom they discussed were Lady 
Yoilaine and the Duke of Montrose. Their 
liaison had been the theme of many buzzing 
scandals, but the buzz had soon exhausted 


LEOLA. 


43 


itself, and their connection had become a fact 
generally understood and but very little dis- 
guised. His place and right had been long 
unchallenged, however bitterly envied. Lady 
Voilaine looked very pretty as she sat in her 
box, in her dazzling lace, with the diamonds 
flashing here and there, glistening like stars 
amidst her lustrous hair. Her coquetry of 
manner she could no more abandon than a dia- 
mond its sparkle ; but she never aroused that 
deadly jealousy which lay in wait within him ; 
and Montrose, whose love was a sheer idola- 
try, as in the first moment, envied every glance 
that fell on another. 

“Look, Norbert! there is your friend!’’ 
said Lady Voilaine, lifting her opera-glass to 
her eyes and glancing at the opposite side of 
the house. 

“ What an indefinite description ! ” laughed 
Montrose, lifting his glasses slowly. 

“There is your best friend, the one man 
you admire more than all the rest. He is so 
handsome one might discover his pretty face 
in a multitude. Look, it is he yonder talking 
with Colonel Donaldson.” 

Montrose’s eyes lighted with pleasure as he 


44 


LEOLA. 


recognized Harry Ray. His attachment to 
him was very great. 

“Harry! so it is. What has he come to 
London for, I wonder ? ” 

“ What has he come to London for ? To see 
me, I dare say. Lord Nowell is also ac- 
quainted -with Harry. I did not suspect he 
was so well acquainted in London. He seems to 
know all the gentlemen around in the boxes. 
Gfo and tell him to come here, Norbert. He 
will not venture without,” she said carelessly, 
while she bowed to Harry, with a tip of her 
fan and a nod of her head for which many 
men in the house that night would have paid 
down five years of their lives. The smile died 
ofl; Montrose’s face. The dangerous anger of 
his race glanced into his eyes. 

“Pardon me if I decline the errand. Lady 
Yoilaine,” he said coldly. 

“ Sir Walter, will you be so kind as to tell 
Lord Ray he may come and speak to us here ?” 
Sir W alter Hutton left the box on his errand. 

“How rude you were, Norbert,” said Lady 
Voilaine, turning to him. 

“Love envies the idlest words, the slightest 
glance that is bestowed elsewhere, my dar- 
ling,” Montrose answered. 


LEOLA. 


45 


Meanwhile in Colonel Donaldson’s box Ray 
received his message, received it with such 
repugnance in his tone and on his face that 
Sir Walter stared at him and said : 

“What! the greatest beauty of the day 
sends for you and you are no more grateful to 
her than this ? ’ ’ 

“I have no desire to stand well with Lady 
Voilaine,” said Ray, impatiently. 

“You will hardly send her such a message 
as that V said Sir Walter. 

Ray wavered a moment, uncertain how best 
to evade her summons. He knew her influence 
over Montrose, and resented it. He abhorred 
her nature and believed it wise to shun her. 
He had met her two years before in London, 
but being a reader of human nature, he soon 
discovered her frail, coquettish nature. He 
warned Montrose against her, and reminded 
him of the utter bondage in which she held 
him. They parted in coldness and anger, 
those two men who had been the truest of 
friends. Hatred is scarce too fierce a word for 
which Harry Ray felt for Rose Voilaine. 
Had there been a plausible pretext for leaving 
the house to avoid her, he would have taken it. 

But it was impossible to evade her summons 


46 


LEOLA. 


without being rude. For the old love that he 
bore for Montrose, he consented to comply 
with her request. He turned and followed Sir 
Walter to her box. 

“ What has brought you to London ? Any- 
thing special?” asked Montrose, when Lady 
Yoilaine, having given him a smile and a few 
words of courtesy. 

The hot words that had passed between them 
had been allowed to drop into oblivion by both. 

“I came down to visit Colonel Donaldson ; 
he made me promise, and I had to comply. 
You have met him at Greylands.” ♦ 

“Yes, I remember.” 

“We shall be charmed to see you at my 
home, Harry, whenever you are at leisure,” 
smiled Lady Voilaine. 

He bowed and thanked her. For those few 
words many peers in England would have laid 
down half their fortune. Harry acknowledged 
them coldly ; he could not forgive her the 
estrangement between him and Montrose ; he 
could not see his friend by the side of the 
woman who enslaved him. He read her aright ; 
this sorceress, who could summon at will every 
phase of womanhood. His reason gave out 
against her an uncompromising verdict. 


LEOLA. 


47 


With cold courtesy he made his adieu and 
left her box, as soon as it was possible to do so. 

As Montrose rode away from the opera that 
night Lady Voilaine reproached him for his 
jealousy. “You are so jealous,” she said, 
“ you are fit for the old days of Venice.” 

“My love ! ” he replied ; “ there is cold love 
where there is no jealousy. Love only knows 
that it hates those who rob it of the simplest 
word, or a single smile; and my darling for 
the love you taught me I would barter life and 
sell eternity.” 

Yes, it was true ; his slavery was sweet 
homage to her power, and she looked up into 
his eyes, as she had vowed so many times be- 
fore, with her sorceress tongue and matchless 
lips — so she vowed him now. 

“Norbert,” she murmured, “ we do not love 
the less, but the more, because the world some- 
times robs us of each other. 


CHAPTER VII. 

THEIR TOUR IlST ITALY AND AMERICA. 

Lord Lyde decided to take Leola to Italy ; 
her mother-in-law, her newly-adopted son and 
Doctor Carlton were to accompany them ; so 
all preparations were made. After the mar- 
riage ceremony was solemnized they drove to 
the home of the dowager in Grosvenor Square. 
It was necessary to give Leola a few hours 
repose before starting on their journey. 

Leola slept but little on the first night of her 
marriage. She rested in a large bed in the 
middle of a large chamber. She could not 
sleep ; she fancied she saw death standing 
before her, ready to grasp her. “If I sleep,” 
thought she, “no one will wake me. They 
have put me here to die.” 

Towards morning fatigue became stronger 
than care, and Leola let fall her heavy eyelids. 
When she opened them again she felt quite 
refreshed. 

Almost immediately she saw the old duchess 
enter in traveling costume, with the little Con- 
rad running by her side. 


LEOLA. 


49 


“ My daughter,” said the duchess, “I pre- 
sent to you your future son.” 

Leola clasped the child in her arms and 
kissed him two or three times. She gazed at 
him long and steadily, and felt her heart warm 
towards him. 

After an imperceptible effort she said, in a 
half audible voice : “ My son ! ” 

The dowager embraced her for these words. 
From that moment the mother and child were 
friends. 

They traveled by slow journeys, halting every 
little distance, for fear of fatiguing Leola. 

They remained in Italy for two months with- 
out effecting any change for the better. They 
visited Florence, Turin, Naples and Genoa, 
without doing her any good. The doctor 
thought the climate of Nice would do her 
much good. They remained there for three 
weeks, and the patient’s health began to de- 
cline. She expressed a desire to visit Rome, 
the air of that city was not apt to do her 
much good. She saw Rome ; its deserted 
streets, its spacious churches, wore in her eyes 
a melancholy air, and she could not endure 
their mournful suggestions. 

The next place they stopped was Pisa. They 


50 


LEOLA. 


stopped here for two weeks, and were on the 
eve of returning to London. 

That evening as Lord Lyde and Doctor Carl- 
ton sat down to supper at their hotel they met 
a young American artist, with whom they con- 
versed. He had seen Leola enter, and had easily 
guessed of what disease she was dying. The 
painter told the doctor that he thought Leola’ s 
life could be saved. “ Sir,” said he. “As for 
me, I was as ill three years ago as this young 
lady that is here.” 

“The physicians of my own country sent me 
to Italy ; the air of Italy done me no good. 
While in Europe I was under the care of the 
best English physicians ; they all told me I 
could not live.” 

“I thought I would like to end my days in 
the land of my birth. So I chose St. Augus- 
tine, in the State of Florida, and installed my- 
self there to bide my time ; but I grew so well 
that it was indefinitely postponed.” 

“Were you a consumptive?” asked the 
doctor. 

“In the last stage, if the doctors did not lie 
to me.” 

He cited the names of the physicians by 
whom he had been treated and given over. 


LEOLA. 


51 


Doctor Carlton asked permission to auscul- 
tate him. It was granted. 

Two hours afterward Lord Lyde was seated 
by the bedside of his daughter. Her face was 
flushed and her breath panting. 

“ Father,” she said, “ I think the end is not 
far distant. I will soon cease to trouble you.” 

Her father took her in his arms and kissed 
her. “Leola,” he said, ‘‘I have just dined 
with a young American artist whom I will 
show to you to-morrow. He was worse than 
you, so he assures me. The climate of St. 
Augustine, Florida, in the States, cured him. 
We will start for America as soon as possible.” 

Leola looked at her father and exclaimed 
with emotion : 

“Do you speak the truth, father? Can I 
live ? I would like to live, if it were only to 
baffle those who are anxious for my death.” 

The very thought that she could be cured 
gave her strength. She was able to rise next 
day. Two days after they took her to Genoa 
and embarked for America. The trip to 
America was without a doubt the most trying 
of all to Leola. Twice during the voyage 
Doctor Carlton thought she must succumb to 
death, but she rallied each time and reached 


52 


LEOLA. 


St. Augustine more dead than alive. She was 
at her worst for six days after reaching her 
destination, but after the sixth day she began 
to improve. The fair weather and climate of 
Florida was slowly healing her. Doctor Carl- 
ton witnessed the miracle with admiration. 
He gazed on the work of nature and watched 
the action of a power superior to his own, with 
passionate interest. Yet to merit the aid of 
Providence he thought best to do a little him- 
self. He took Leola out for long drives in the 
sunshine, and under his careful treatment, 
together with the pure air of St. Augustine 
and the sunshine of Heaven, Leola slowly but 
surely recovered. At the end of six weeks 
she ate, digested and slept well. The night- 
sweats which inundate all consumptives gradu- 
ally diminished. The heart of the patient was 
not slow in entering into convalescence. She 
was very happy at feeling her life renewed, 
and very often thanked God for it. 

Time rolled on and on. In its flight one 
year has passed since Leola had left London, 
but in that length of time a miracle had taken 
place. 

Lord Lyde has purchased a beautiful little 
villa on the outskirts of St. Augustine, 


iiEOLA. 


53 


shrouded in flowers, with beautiful orange 
trees covered with the choicest of fruit. No 
one would recognize Leola now that had 
known her in her English home. From the 
pale, thin, emaciated consumptive, she had 
been tranformed into one of the most beautiful 
of women, when she walked under the old 
orange trees in the garden, her countenance no 
longer pale, but flushed with the roses of 
health. She was very beautiful — magnifi- 
cently beautiful now, with her golden hair, 
her beautiful, white, clear skin, her large blue 
eyes, her perfectly rounded, graceful form. 
She was greatly admired. Her beauty was 
the gossip for miles around. 

No one was better pleased with this new turn 
of affairs than the old duchess. No mother 
could have been more affectionate than her. 
In her letters to her son she never tired of de- 
scribing Leola’ s wonderful beauty. 

At this time little Conrad was taken ill with 
the fever ; during the night he grew rapidly 
worse, and next day he was so ill that the 
duchess telegraphed for her son, telling him to 
come immediately, his child was dying. 


CHAPTER YIII. 


LOKD HARRY RAY. 

Lord Harry Ray was master of Greyland. 
Tall, finely formed, with a boyish, frank, hand- 
some face- He was beloved by all his friends 
and acquaintances for his straightforward man- 
ly principles and genial disposition. He was 
idolized by the Duke of Montrose, he was his 
nearest and dearest friend, his constant com- 
panion. 

Greylands was situated about three miles 
from Montrose. The duke and Harry Ray 
had grown up as boys together; they had 
been chums at Oxford, and inseparable com- 
panions ever since. Never had one angry 
word passed between them until Lady Yoi- 
laine’s name was spoken of. Harry had from 
time to time warned Norbert against her and 
advised him to give her up. After his son was 
born, and again after his marriage to Leola he 
again told and argued with Montrose that his 
place was by his wife’s side until death should 
claim her, but his words and pleadings had no 
effect against the silvery tongued flattery of 


LEOLA. 


55 


Lady Yoilaine. When Harry mentioned the 
subject to him Montrose always made some ex- 
cuse to change it. 

“I thought you had left London, Harry 

‘ ‘ Have a cigar ? ’ ^ said Montrose one evening 
about a week after Harry Ray arrived in Lon- 
don, meeting him at the club. “I have not 
seen you since that night we met you at the 
opera. Why have you not called ? 

“ I have been ailing for a few days,’* an- 
swered Harry. “ What a warm night ; let us 
take a walk.” 

“ By the way, old fellow, how is your wife, 
is her health improving any ? I believe she is 
in America now, is she not ? ” 

‘‘Yes, her health is improving ; so mother 
said in her last letter. I received it only yes- 
terday ; but you know consumptives always 
improve before going to die.” 

“ Norbert, do you still believe in the love of 
Lady Rose Yoilaine ? ” 

“To the full ! ” The answer was mild, as 
yet, but Montrose’s eyes were beginning to 
glitter coldly and angrily. 

Of all things, he hated his personal feelings 
probed. 

“What!” broke in Harry. His manner 


56 


LEOLA. 


was utterly changed from its usual noncha- 
lance. 

“ What ! you are as mad about her now as 
you were five years ago ? ’ ’ 

Montrose laughed. 

“My dear Harry, five years ago, and at dif- 
ferent periods of time since, you were so good 
as to intrude your counsels on me. Pray do 
not trouble yourself to repeat them. I bore 
rather ill with your interference then. I may 
do so still worse now. 

“Bear with it as you will! But do you 
mean to tell me, then, that arch coquette as 
Lady Yoilaine is, you are infatuated enough 
to believe she will forever remain true to 
you P’ 

“Harry,” replied Montrose in icy tones, 
“ even forbearance will not last ‘forever’ if it 
be tried too far, as you take a fancy to try it 
to-night. All I beg of you is, cease to meddle 
with my private affairs. You must have im- 
bibed too much wine at supper this evening. 
It has excited you.” 

The duke’s words were sneering and cold; 
such words, flung at a man in a moment of 
excitement and strong feeling, are like ice- 
water flung on flames of fire, and on the spur 


LEOLA. 


67 


of the moment Harry Ray said what might 
never have crossed his lips. 

“You are a fool, Norbert ! ” he broke in 
hotly and quickly. “It is no secret now. 
You are the slave of her idlest caprice. You 
are chained and infatuated by her. All the 
world see it. Men jest and jeer over it ! 

“Because they envy it — as perhaps you 
do?” 

“They ridicule you behind your back,” 
Harry answered, not noticing the sneer. “You 
have no will of your own with her — she rules 
you as she pleases. Can you drag down the 
honor of your name, the name of your 
mother, for the sheer sake of this wanton 
adulteress?” 

“ Silence ! ” 

The word hissed out on the air like the whiz 
of a bullet. 

“I need not say our acquaintance ceases 
from to-night ? ” 

He moved away with a low bow of con- 
temptuous courtesy ; with a sudden move- 
ment Harry stood before him. 

“For God’s sake, do not let our friendship 
be broken for her,” muttered Harry. “Stop, 
Norbert ! We shall not part like that. We 


58 


LEOLA. 


never had an evil word between ns till she 
wrought them. Norbert, is all our friendship 
to be swept away in a single night ? 

“Lady Yoilaine can in no way be charged 
with having caused the evil words between us ; 
you have yourself to thank for your insulting 
insolence to me.” 

“I never intended to insult you, Norbert, 
but I want to tell you frankly, what all your 
friends and enemies say with one voice behind 
your back, because I seek to warn you against 
your wretched slavery with a titled harlot. 
Norbert, I say she is faithless to you ! ” 

For an instant the words struck Montrose 
like a shot, and as the syllables left Ray’s lips 
Montrose lifted his arm, the jeweled handle of 
the little cane he carried flashed in the moon- 
light, the switch whirled through the air, and 
in the swiftness of a second had struck a 
broad, livid mark across Ray’s brow, brutal as 
a death stroke, ineffaceable as shame. 

“That for your lies and insults. Your life 
will pay the forfeit.” 

The words were hissed in Ray’s ears as the 
blow fell, low but distinct as the hiss of a 
snake, cold, relentless as death, as he reeled 
back, for the moment staggered and blinded. 


LEOLA. 


59 


Montrose’s eyes fastened on the swelled crim- 
son wound where the cane had left its mark, 
with pitiless greed for revenge that yet clam- 
ored still for more. 

Under the pale moonbeams of the warm 
night the vile ineffaceable insult seemed 
stamped on the living flesh in letters of fire, 
which nothing in the past or present or future 
could never wash out or cover, for which blood 
alone could atone. And Montrose laughed to 
himself a cold, sneering laugh ; breaking the 
cane in two, he threw the fragments into the 
face of the man he had struck, but received 
for his pains in return a blow on his own lips 
with a force that would have sent a weaker 
man hurling backward to the ground. 

“ By heavens, you must answer for this to- 
night.” 

His face was white, save where the red wound 
stood out across his brow ; his voice was hoarse. 
The suddenness of the foul indignity seemed to 
have paralyzed in him all save the sheer in- 
stinct of its revenge. 

“With pleasure ! ” said Montrose. 

“ Where ? ” 

“In the elm grove, where Lord Leigh re- 
ceived his death wound, if it suits you.” 


60 


LEOLA. 


“Your hour?” 

“At midnight. I am engaged until then.” 

“ I shall await you.” 

With these few rapid words all was said and 
done in less time than it takes to write it. 

Then he turned and went his way. He only 
thought of the brutal insult he had given, with 
pitiless delight ; the jealous and revengeful 
greed that were within him could only be sated 
with one requital — Life ! Life ! ! which in a 
few hours would be at his mercy. Mercy — 
that word he knows not ; it was not in his race 
or in his creed. As ruthlessly as he dealt out 
insult, he had it into him to deal out death. 


CHAPTER IX. 


THE DUEL. 

The pale moon was shedding its silvery light 
over the earth, on the winding waters, and on 
the green hills afar off, and down the numer- 
ous little rills close by. 

As its silvery rays steal amidst the shadows 
of inlets and shady dells, so it steals among 
the shadows of Elm park in London, amidst 
the tall elm trees and the dark barrier of 
forest growth. All was quiet save the dull 
sounds of parting waters, where some loath- 
some reptiles stirred among its breaks, or the 
hot breeze moved its pestilential plants. 

And in silence they stood facing each other. 
In this silence they had met, in this silence 
they would part. 

The pale moonbeams fell upon Harry Ray’s 
beautiful silken hair, and in his eyes as they 
looked up towards the clear, cloudless sky, 
giving him an almost supernatu rally hand- 
some appearance, and on Montrose’s face the 
shadows deepened, leaving it as though cast in 
bronze, cold and tranquil, each feature set 


62 


LEOLA. 


into the merciless repose of one immovable 
purpose. 

Their faces were strangely contrasted, for 
the serenity of one was that of a man who 
fearlessly awaits an inevitable doom, the seren- 
ity of the other that of a man who mercilessly 
deals out an implacable fate ; and while in 
one you could but see the calmness of custom, 
beneath the suave smile of the other you 
could read the intent of the murderer. 

Midnight was nigh at hand. 

They fronted one another, those two insepar- 
able friends, while close at hand babbled the 
rushing, tumbling little rills, while above their 
heads shone the pale splendor of the Queen of 
Night. 

“ One ! ” 

The word fell down upon the silence. Their 
eyes met, and in the gaze of the one was a 
compassionate pardon, but in the other a 
relentless hate. 

‘‘ Two ! ’’ 

Once more the single word dropped out 
upon the stillness of the night. 

“Three!” 

The white death-signal flickered in the 
breeze. There was the assassin’s greed within 


LEOLA. 


63 


Montrose’s soul, the calmness of his face 
never changed, the remorseless gleam of his 
eyes never softened. 

It was for him to fire first, and the doom 
written on his countenance never relaxed. He 
turned and fired quickly — but his shot sped 
home. 

One moment Harry Ray stood erect, his 
silken hair floating in the wind— he then 
reeled slightly backward, raised his arm and 
fired in the air ! 

The bullet flew far and harmless among the 
topmost branches of the elm trees, his arm 
dropped, and without sign or sound he fell 
down upon the sodden turf, his head striking 
against the earth with a dull echo. 

A little bullet hole over Harry Ray’s heart 
told its own story, for the Duke of Montrose 
did not often miss his mark, and he who had 
slain him, more coldly, more pitilessly than 
the hardest- hearted amongst us would slay a 
dog, stood unmoved in the moonlight, with 
his calm, deadly serenity, which had no re- 
morse, while about his lips there lingered a 
cold, cruel smile, and in his eyes gleamed the 
flame of a bloodhound’s triumph. 

An exultant light shone in his eyes ; he had 


64 


LEOLA. 


avenged himself and Lady Yoilaine! Life 
was the price his revenge had set ; his soul 
was of iron ; he went nearer, stooped and 
gazed at the work of his own hand. Life was 
extinct, the eyes of his friend were closed to 
him forever. 

And his murderer stood by, calm, unmoved, 
his face so serene in its brutal and unnatural 
tranquility ; there was but one witness to his 
crime, a celebrated dueling physician of Lon- 
don, a man who had witnessed crimes quite as 
dark as this frequently, a man who had been 
tried and trusted. Almost unconsciously Doc- 
tor Lacey watched him as he moved away to 
the spot where his horse was waiting. With 
the same fatal calmness on his face he mounted 
his horse and rode away. The sound of the 
hoofs on the road grew fainter and fainter 
as he rode away. Montrose rode away to her 
whose sorceress power was alone responsible 
for this night’s work. 


CHAPTER X. 

REMORSE. 

Straight on — straihgt on to the home of Lady 
Voilaine, rode Montrose to tell her that another 
man’s life had been sacrificed to shield her 
from reproach ; that Harry Ray’s life had 
paid the forfeit. Montrose related to her with 
cold blooded indifference the particulars of his 
remorseless crime ; he told how he struck him 
as he would a hound that had bitten him, for 
the lieing words that left his lips. He could 
not restrain the pitiless passion that vibrated 
through his voice, and she understood him 
without translation. 

“ He had but one course open to him,” he 
replied. “ A coward would have to meet me, 
and he was never that.” 

An exultant gladness lightened in her eyes, 
a flush came on her cheek ; for an instant it 
lent to her beauty a glow soft and radiant as 
the morning. 

‘‘You have done right ; you have done well ; 
you have done but your duty, my noble Mont- 
rose,” she said as she stooped over him with 


LEOLA. 


her soft glance, and wreathed her white arms 
about him and leaned on his her fragrant lips. 

And he was happy then. Yes, he was as 
happy as the drunkard is in the reeling mad- 
ness of his revel, in the delirious insanities of 
his excitation ; he was happy with this guilt 
at his door, with this murder on his soul. He 
was happy while the waving tresses of her hair 
swept softly against his cheek, and the false 
lovelight of her eyes looked back into his own. 

His honor had bent like wax in her hands, 
and crime had no sting since it was just in her 
sight; as he had been without mercy, so he 
was now without remorse. 

The cold grave of his friend chilled him hot. 
In the dreamy warmth of her kisses and in his 
heart the crime was not felt while it beat in 
unison with hers. 

For her sake he had steeped his soul in the 
guilt of Cain; and the more deeply it had 
doomed him the sweeter grew his love. He 
never gave one thought to him who had been 
his best friend in life ; he only looked up into 
her eyes and drew her lips close to his own. 
And while his kisses lingered on her lips as he 
drew her towards him, the forward movement 
dislodged a letter, which lay hidden amongst 


LEOLA. 


67 


the laces on her breast, so that it dropped on 
Montrose’s arm. 

He picked it up and looked at it. Lady 
Voilaine with a quick movement tried to 
snatch it away, but was unable to do so. 

That was a fatal letter to Lady Voilaine. It 
clianged her whole life. Standing under the 
large chandelier, its reddening rays streaming 
on the page, lit up each word till it seemed 
written in blood. Montrose read — read on to 
the last line. 

Then a shrill, hoarse cry rang through the 
room, a cry of great agony, and throwing his 
arms above his head, he fell like a drunken 
man down upon the floor. 

Hose Voilaine for the flrst time in her gay 
life grew pale from fright, the smile faded 
from her lips. 

For she saw the man whom she had fooled 
and whom her breath, with its traitorous 
caresses, had wooed to the bottomless depths 
of crime, and knew her power over him was 
gone. For she saw that he knew her aright — 
at last. She saw that there are moments in 
human life which transform men to flends, 
in which the slave, goaded to insanity, turns 
and rends his tyrant. 


68 


LEOLA. 


Montrose had arisen with a spring like a 
tiger, caught Lady Voilaine in his grasp, 
bruising the white skin which he had once 
deemed too fair for the summer air to breathe 
on, and the fear of death came on her, for she 
knew now her voice would have no power to 
quell the storm, the voice which had lured 
him to crime ! 

As the tiger seizes his prey, his arms 
crushed her there where she stood, his face 
pale with passion, his eyes bloodshot, his hair 
wet with the sweat of anguish. 

In his agony he was mad — mad with its 
hideous riot surging in his brain, and now as 
he gazed upon her mocking, accursed loveli- 
ness, that fiend in angel guise, that had lured 
him on, into the abyss of infamy and stained 
his soul with crime. 

“ Oh God, I shall die ! You would not kill 
me, Norbert ? ” 

“Why not, if fiends can die? You have 
lured me to murder ; you shall have a mur- 
derer’s doom.” 

He held her as in a vice of iron, she could 
not escape, and in his maddened, cheated love, 
his tortures of remorse, he knew not what he 
done. 


LEOLA. 


He only saw the contents of the letter which 
he had read, which told him that Lady Yoi- 
laine was false to him, for the letter was writ- 
ten in her own undeniable handwriting to his 
murdered companion, Harry Kay, begging for, 
imploring for his love, telling him she would 
renounce Montrose forever if he complied. 

And turning over the letter, on the other side 
of the same sheet of paper, he read in the 
old familiar handwriting of his truest and 
dearest friend, the scornful refusal. 

“ I never would listen to you,” Harry said in 
the letter. “I have always detested and hated 
you, Lady Yoilaine. Even had I loved you as 
madly as Montrose, my honor would never 
permit me to betray him.” 

Montrose only saw and felt the forest brute’s 
fierce craving thirst for her life. And he knew 
she was in his power ; her slave was now her 
master. 

Trembling with terror, she wrestled in his 
grasp, while her voice moaned out in a piteous 
cry: 

“ My God ! Montrose, have mercy on me for 
our child’s sake if not for my own.” 

Closer he clinched her in his grasp, her beau- 
tiful hair tangled in his hands, her form pressed 


70 


LEOLA. 


in Ms hold until she cried with pain, and she 
thought death was nigh now — death from the 
hands of the man she had lured and betrayed. 
A sickness of mortal dread came over her, a 
mist blinding her eyes, a loud noise rang in her 
ears and beat about her brain. 

He only saw the face that lured him to sin ; 
he only knew the brute impulse to crush out 
her loveliness, and she was dying — dying by 
his hand, without strength to summons those 
within call, without strength to break from 
him to where safety and defense were at hand. 

“ Death is too much mercy for you ; for the 
sake of our child I spare you,” Montrose cried 
as he threw her from him, hurling her fragile 
form from out his arms, and leaving her where 
she lay, he reeled out into the silvery moon- 
light, staggering like a drunken man, his brain 
crazed with the madness of delirium. He 
found his horse tied where he had left him, 
mounted and rode away in the direction of 
Grosvenor Square. 

As he rode up he received a dispatch from 
the footman ; tearing it open, he read, “Come 
at once; your son is dying.” “It is from 
mother,” he said. 

He learned that a steamer left Liverpool the 


LEOLA. 


71 


following day, so he made all preparations for 
a trip to America. Two weeks from that fatal 
night Montrose had reached St. Augustine. 
But, alas ! it was too late ; his beloved child 
was dead long since. He had lived but two 
days after sending the despatch. 

“ My poor son, the news will kill you, I am 
afraid.” His mother it was who met him first 
as he entered the house and addressed these 
words to him. ‘‘But my dear son,” she said, 
‘ ‘ though you lost your child you have found 
a beautiful wife, not as you last remember her, 
but restored to perfect health and as beautiful 
as a summer dream. Come, I will bring you 
to her.” 


CHAPTER XI. 

HIS WIFE. 

The old duchess led him out into the beauti- 
ful old garden, and there, standing under the 
beautiful orange trees, the Duke of Montrose 
thought he never beheld a fairer picture. 

She was the fairest rose of all, loitering 
among the orange trees on that beautiful June 
day. 

He looked and saw a tall, graceful form of a 
young girl of nineteen summers, with hair of 
burnished gold, drawn back from a low, white 
brow, and a face so inexpressibly lovely that 
his soul was thrilled with rapture at the very 
sight. 

“My son, this is Leola, your wife — I see 
you do not recognize her. You do not know 
her?” 

“ My wife ! My wife, did you say, mother ? 
You do not mean that this is the dying girl I 
wedded in England, the girl I wedded at St. 
Paul’s one year ago ? ” 

“Yes, my son, this is your wife.” 

The duke extended his hand to her and said: 


LEOLA. 


73 


“ Let me thank yon, Leola, for the care you 
extended to my son. Mother has told me you 
have been a guardian angel to him.” 

“I have done but my duty,” she answered. 

Leola’s heart went out to him, he looked so 
sad. 

That night after tea Leola was walking in 
the garden, a favorite pastime of hers, when 
Montrose went to her, and said : 

“Leola, you do not hate me, do you? I 
have been a bad man, but I have suffered 
much for my sins. But I am a penitent now. 
I am going to lead a very different life. I am 
going to become a better man. Leola,” he 
said, in a calm, trembling voice, “will you 
listen while I tell you all I have suffered ? 

Leola nodded her head. 

Montrose then told her all, told her of his 
infatuation of Lady Voilaine, how she lured 
him with her false smiles and still falser heart. 
He told her of the quarrel and fatal duel with 
his best friend, and the finding of the letter, 
that undisputed proof of Lady Yoilaine’s per- 
fidy. He told her how, half crazed, he had 
nearly murdered her, and only paused when 
he recalled that she was mother to his child. 

“I wanted to speak to you, Montrose. I 


LEOLA. 


n 

wanted to tell you that I feared that I was 
in the wrong, since my life separated you 
from your happiness.” 

“No, Leola;” he said. “Everything is 
over between us now.” 

“ My hate for her exceeds the wildest love 
that I ever felt for her.” 

“ Your life and your health are gifts from 
God, Leola. It is a miracle of heaven that has 
preserved you.” 

“ I thank you, Norbert, and I recognize your 
heart in these kind words ; you are too good 
to rebel against a miracle. But, Norbert, do 
you regret anything ? Speak to me truthfully, 
without disguise.” 

“ I regret but one thing, Leola ; that of not 
giving you my first love.” 

“You are a noble man, Norbert ; this woman 
was never worthy of your love.” 

“I never think of her now, I love her no 
longer. I have found a more worthy object on 
which to fasten my affections.” 

“ I speak of you, Leola. My wife, will you 
let me love you ? You are very dear to me. 
There is no room left in my heart for another.” 

“Will you try and return my affection, 
Leola ? Will you try to make me happy ? ” 


LEOLA. 


75 


“I will try — I will do my best, Norbert! ” 
she replied. 

And so time sped along— time passed quickly 
amidst the orange trees and flowers of sunny 
Florida. 

Lord Lyde and Montrose were constant com- 
panions and the greatest of friends, while the 
duchess fairly idolized her daughter-in-law. 
They all lived in a perfect harmony of pleas- 
ure. 

‘‘A year has passed, Leola ; one year ago 
to-night since my little Conrad died,” replied 
the duke of Montrose. “ I have waited one 
year, my darling, to hear from your own lips 
my fate. Have you tried, have you found, 
Leola, that you can love me a little ? ” 

“I don’t know ; you must tell me if I do. 
All I know, Norbert, is when you speak to me 
your voice rings in my ears, and I grow intoxi- 
cated as I listen to you. Whenever my hand 
touches yours it thrills me with a strange, 
delightful shudder. When you are away from 
me, when I can neither see nor hear you, there 
seems a great strange lonesome feeling about 
me, and I feel a loneliness which overwhelms 
me.” 

‘‘Now, Norbert, tell me if I love you.” 


76 


LEOtA. 


Her answer fell like dew on the heart of 
Montrose. He was so happy in learning that 
Leola loved him that he forgot for a moment 
all his past folly. 

A new light illumined his soul ; he com- 
pared his former passion, as restless and turbid 
as a stormy torrent, with the calm tranquility 
of legitimate happiness. It is the story of all 
young husbands ; when one lays his head on 
the conjugal pillow for the first time he per- 
ceives with sweet surprise that he never slept 
well before. 

Montrose took both Leola’ s hands in his and 
drew her closer to him and imprinted a kiss 
upon her lips, exclaiming : 

“Yes, Leola, my wife, you love me, and no 
one else ever loved me like you. You trans- 
port me into a better world, full of honorable 
delights and pleasures. My money may have 
helped to save your life, but you have repaid 
the debt liberally in opening my eyes to the 
holy light of pure love. Let us love each other, 
Leola, with a love that knows no end. God, 
who has joined us together, will rejoice to 
gather two more happy hearts into his bosom. 
Let us forget the whole world to belong to each 
other.” 


LEOLA. 


77 


Leola opened her arms to her husband and 
folded them about his neck, and her large, 
frank, clear blue eyes looked up to his 

“Yes, Norbert, my husband, I love you ; 
love you truly with all my heart.” 


CHAPTER XII. 


THE BALL. 

Theee never was a ball like it before. The 
ill-timed rain gave a somewhat gloomy aspect 
to the parade of the day, but whatever that 
lacked was more than made np by the bril- 
liance of the scene in the vast court of the 
Pension Building. 

It was estimated at the height of festivities ; 
there were fifteen thousand people in the hall. 
Even the reserve of the well-bred man of the 
world was astonished into an expression of 
amazed delight as he gazed upon the scene 
before him before passing out to be lost in the 
brilliant concourse. 

The decorations of the immense hall had been 
arranged with the best of taste, and with per- 
fect regard to the well proportioned spaces of 
the court. The majestic colonnades were treated 
by the decorators in a manner that did not 
destroy the effect of their splendid proportions, 
but rather heightened it. Touches of color 
here and there afforded delight to the height. 


LEOLA. 


79 


radiating in every direction from the centre of 
each of the ranges, divided off by the colon- 
nades, were streamers of red, white and blue. 
The lower sections of the huge colonnades 
were covered with crimson plush, while ever- 
greens were wound in a great ascending spiral 
around each column. 

All the opportunities for decorative effect 
offered by the balconies were seized upon by 
the artists ; flags, bunting, flowers, and orna- 
mental devices of all kinds were used in abund- 
ance, and with brilliant taste. At the west 
end a large portrait of President Harrison 
looked down upon the throng, and at the 
opposite end there was a companion portrait 
of Vice-President Morton. Far up towards the 
lofty ceiling were circle after circle of incandes- 
cent lights that twinkled like radiant stars and 
shed a full soft light over the enchanting scene 
below. 

Then with the immense throng, the beauti- 
ful women, the sparkling jewels, the shimmer 
of silk, and the sheen of satin, the gold lace, 
and scarlet or blue, here and there, of some 
uniform, the fascination of the moving figures 
in the dance or promenade, the vast hall pre- 
sented a spectacle of splendor, almost un- 


80 


LEOLA. 


rivalled even in the imaginative flights of the 
most enthusiastic of poets. 

The Duke of Montrose proposed a trip to 
Washington for a few weeks during the inau- 
guration. 

Leola said she would like to go and see the 
beautiful American Capital. 

They arrived in Washington February 25, 
1889, where they registered at the Arlington 
Hotel. While in Washington Leola was greatly 
admired for her wonderful beauty. She had 
but one rival in that respect — the beautiful 
Cora Elsemere, the charming daughter of 
United States Senator Elsemere from Virginia. 
Cora and Leola became great and most inti- 
mate friends. Cora Elsemere was indeed a 
beautiful girl, tall, very graceful, clear cut 
features, with beautiful pink and olive com- 
plexion, large dark eyes. She was a typical 
Southern beauty, and belle for three seasons 
in Washington. 

Senator Elsemere made Montrose promise his 
party would attend the ball. 

The Duke of Montrose was very proud of 
his young wife, as she promenaded or danced 
among this gay throng at the Inauguration ball. 

Leola was attired in a superb costume, and 


LEOLA. 


81 


she looked as fair as a young queen. Her cos- 
tume consisted of a magnificent amber brocade 
embroidered with white flowers, gorgeous, 
beautiful, artistic. 

How well it became her ; it was cut square, 
showing the white, stately, graceful neck, and 
the sleeves hung after the Grecian fashion, 
leaving the white round arms bare. The lights 
shining upon the dress changed with every 
moment ; it was as though she was enveloped 
in sunbeams. Every lady present envied the 
dress, and pronounced it to be gorgeous be- 
yond comparison. 

Leola’s beautiful golden hair was studded 
with diamond stars, and a diamond necklace 
clasped her white throat — this was the duke’s 
present. Her artistic taste had found yet 
further scope, for she had enhanced the beauty 
of her dress by the addition of white daphnes 
shrouded in green leaves. 

Montrose looked at her in admiration — her 
magnificent beauty, her queenly figure, her 
royal grace and ease of movement, her splen- 
did costume, all impressed him. 

From every fold of her shining dress came 
a rich, sweet, subtle perfume ; her once pale 


82 


LEOLA. 


face had on it an unwonted flush of delicate 
rose-leaf color. * 

Montrose understood the art of dancing well, 
he was perfect in it ; Leola avowed it. 

With him dancing was the very poetry of 
motion. The flowers, the lights, the sweet, 
soft music, the fragrance, the silvery sound of 
laughter, the fair faces and shining jewels of 
the ladies, all stirred and warmed Leola’ s 
imagination ; they brought bright and vivid 
fancies to her, and touched her beauty loving 
soul. A glow came over her fair face, the love- 
light into her beautiful eyes, her lips were 
wreathed in smiles — no one had ever seen 
Leola so beautiful before. 

‘‘ You enjoy this, do you not said Mont- 
rose, as he watched her beautiful face. 

“ Very much ! ” she replied. “ Very much, 
indeed ! ” 

He saw how many admiring glances followed 
her ; he knew all the gentlemen in the hall 
were envying him in his position with her ; he 
knew, pretty as some of the ladies were, Leola 
outshone them all, as the sun outshines the 
stars. And as he looked at her now, he knew 
she was queen of the fete — queen of the ball. 

“ This is the first time you have met so many 


LEOLA. 


83 


people at a ball, is it not, Leo] a ? ” asked 
Cora Elsemere, coming forward leaning on her 
father’s arm, just as she finished a waltz. 

Cora looked very pretty, very grand, with 
her dark Spanish beauty. She was attired in 
an elaborate costume of white silk and white 
lace, trimmed with green and silver leaves — 
the ornaments were all of silver, both fringe 
and leaves — the head-dress was a green wreath 
with silver fiowers. Nothing could be more 
elegant and effective. 

“Yes, it is the first time!” Leola replied. 

“ I never expected to behold such a large and 
beautiful assemblage.” 

“You Americans never half do a thing,” 
Lord Lyde replied. 

“You look like a beautiful j)icture, Leola ! ” 
the duchess remarked, coming up at this 
moment. 

The old duchess was all smiles, and looked . 
very neat. She was attired in black satin, 
with silver and tulle entraine. 

“Norbert! Norbert ! ” exclaimed the old 
duchess greatly excited. “ Is that not Lord 
Ray over there talking with Colonel Donald- 
son ? I thought you said he was dead ; that 
you ki . Look yonder, Norbert 1 ” 


84 


LEOLA. 


Montrose glanced in the direction indicated, 
rubbed his eyes, and looked again. 

“ Am I dreaming ? ” he replied, “ or is this 
a vision 

‘‘ It is Harry, as I live, or either his ghost ! ” 

Yes, it was Lord Harry Hay, the bosom 
friend of Norbert ; the man that he believed 
lay inanimate and cold in his grave, slain by 
his own hand. 

Harry advanced towards him with a smile on 
his frank, handsome face. 

“Yes, Montrose, it is I ; not my ghost, but 
solid flesh and blood, and still your best friend. ” 

“ It was a cruel trick I played you, but I 
done it all for the best. I was determined to 
defeat Lady Voilaine in her double game of 
deceit and intrigue ; and you know how well 
I succeeded.” 

“ The night I fought you, Norbert, my form 
was enclosed in a vest of chain mail ; your 
well-directed bullet had no effect on me. I 
acted my part so well that I deceived you 
completely. Doctor Lacey, having been let 
into the secret to play out his part, pronounced 
me dead.” 

“I heard that you was in Washington, and I 
came here from New York city to-day. I 


LEOLA. 


85 


knew yon would attend the ball ; I have been 
watching you since your party came in.’’ 

Montrose extended his two hands. 

“ Harry, my friend, my more than brother, 
I have wronged you most grievously, but I 
have suffered grievously, too.” 

“ Harry, do you forgive me ? ” 

“With all my heart, Montrose,” he an- 
swered. 

“You restore twenty years of happiness to 
me to-night. I will live happy and content 
during life, and die happy, knowing that you 
live.” 

“Leola, this is my best friend. Lord Harry 
Ray, just arisen from the dead.” 

Harry laughed. 

“ And this gentleman is Colonel Donaldson. 
Gentlemen, my wife. You are acquainted with 
mother and also Lord Lyde, I believe.” 

‘ ‘ Where are you stopping, Harry ? Y ou and 
Colonel Donaldson must come and stop with 
us, we are at the Arlington, registered.” 

“ I hope you don’t object ; if you do we will 
insist,” Leola and the old duchess answered in 
one breath. 

“By the way, Norbert, who is that pretty 
girl standing over there ? You are acquainted 


86 


LEOLA. 


with her, I believe. I have been watching her 
all the evening.” 

“ Why, that is Cora Elsemere ; United States 
Senator Elsemere’ s daughter; that is her 
father with her, come and I will introduce 
you. I see she is glancing over this way.” 

“Miss Elsemere, allow me to introduce to 
you my friend, Lord Harry Ray, one of the 
handsomest peer of the English realm,” laughed 
Montrose. “ Also Senator Elsemere.” Harry 
bowed. 

It was love at first sight. Harry Ray thought 
he never beheld a more fascinating lady than 
Cora Elsemere. 

A happier party never left the ball that night. 

Senator Elsemere and Cora were let into the. 
secret of Harry’ s resurrection, and Lord Harry 
Ray was the hero of the hour. 

They remained in Washington for two 
months. Not a very long stay, I am sure ; 
but long enough for Harry Ray to claim Cora 
Elsemere as his wife, the ceremony being per- 
formed in the beautiful little church of Coven- 
try, and it was not necessary to ask Harry if 
he was happy. You had but to glance at his 
smiling face and bright blue eyes and observe 
the sunlight that rested there. 


LEOLA. 


87 


Leola’s beauty excited general comment in 
Washington. The newspapers raved about her 
beauty, they styled her the ‘‘English beauty, 
the beautiful duchess,” and acknowledged her 
the greatest beauty of the day. 

Before sailing for England they spent a few 
weeks in New York city, which they admired 
very much. 

They sailed up the beautiful Hudson River 
on the second day in June as far as Albany, 
and Lord Lyde thought it was the most beau- 
tiful scenery he had ever seen. 

The party landed at Albany. The old duchess 
expressed a desire to see the Capitol, and was 
shown through it. 

It was the first day of July when our party 
arrived at last in London after their American 
tour. 

Harry Ray at once took his young wife to 
Greylands, where the sun always shines on 
their happy union, and here we will leave them, 
happy, content in the blissful smiles of wedded 
life. 

Greylands looked picturesque and lovely 
with its richness of foliage and flush of flowers. 
The great magnolia trees were all in bloom, the 
air was full of their delicate, subtle perfume. 


88 


LEOLA. 


Under the limes, where the shadows of the 
graceful, tremulous, scented leaves fell upon 
the grass, the limes that were never still, but 
always responding to some half-hidden whisper 
of the wind, stood Cora Eay; and her hus- 
band was watching her in the distance, watched 
her as she walked among the flowers and roses, 
and as she stooped to pluck a beautiful car- 
mine rose he strolled up behind her ; and as 
he watched her as she stooped amongst the 
flowers he thought she was the most beautiful 
rose of all. 


CHAPTER XIII. 

LADY VOILAINE’S REPENTANCE. 

One morning, a few weeks after his arrival 
in London after his American tour, Montrose 
received a letter addressed, “Norbert, Duke 
of Montrose.’’ The superscription was in a 
small, delicate hand, but every character was 
traced with singular distinctness. He opened 
and read as follows : 

‘‘August 3d, 1889. 

“ To JN’orhert, Duke of Montrose : 

“ I write to you, Norbert, the last you will 
ever hear of me in life. I am on my death bed 
now ; the doctors have told me I can never 
recover. I suppose you have heard of my hus- 
band’ s death ; he fell in a duel with Lord 
Grey six months ago, in London ; and of my 
subsequent flight with his slayer to France. 
Lord Grey lived but two months after our 
flight to Paris ; he killed himself by drinking 
and dissipation. It was then I began to see 
the mad folly and ruin had been wrought 
through me. I thought of my son, and for his 
sake I vowed to change my life. I have well 
succeeded, Norbert ; I entered the Convent of 
the Holy Sisters at Marseilles. I have devoted 


90 


LEOLA. 


the last two months of my life and the whole 
of my immense fortune to God and his Church. 
The greatest comfort of my unhappy life was 
in learning that Lord Harry Hay was not num- 
bered among my victims, that I had not his 
life to answer for, not his murder on my soul, 
for Doctor Lacey finding out where I was, had 
written and told me how Harry had tricked you. 

“I wanted to write to you, Norbert, asking 
you to forgive me for my sins to you and the 
sorrow I have caused you ; and if our child 
survives and grows to manhood, keep secret 
from him the secret of his birth. I also ask of 
you, Norbert, sometimes when you mention 
my name do not speak of me too unkindly ; 
remember once we were friends. By the time 
this letter reaches you, Norbert, I will be cold 
in death ; my soul will have taken its flight to 
stand before its maker to answer for its crimes. 
I have given orders not to send the letter to 
you until I have passed away. I have been a 
bold, bad woman, Norbert, but I have repented 
before it was too late ; I have done all in my 
power to make peace with my maker before I 
pass before him to be judged. You will for- 
give me, Norbert, for having wronged you. 
You will not refuse this, my last request. 
And now as I write this my eyes are growing 
dim ; I feel the cold sweat of death on my 
brow. Death steals over me like a shadow, I 
will write you my last adieu. Yours, 

“ Rose Voilaine.” 


LEOLA. 


91 


Montrose handed the letter to his wife, and 
Leola, after reading it, exclaimed : “ It is very 
sad ; you will forgive her, Norbert ? ” 

“Yes, my darling ; although she has wronged 
me, I forgive her with all my heart, and may 
her soul rest in peace.” 


CHAPTER XIV. 

ALL IS WELL THAT ENDS WELL. 

A WEEK later the Duke of Montrose took 
his wife to his home at Montrose Castle ; Lord 
Lyde and the old duchess were also to live with 
them. During the season they lived in London. 

When they reached Montrose — for the first 
time since his marriage — the people flocked 
from miles around to see the pretty young 
duchess, the Duke of Montrose’s young wife, 
to welcome her to her new home. 

Autumn with its richly tinted foliage, its 
wonder of late blooming flowers, its warm, 
beautiful days and beautiful twilights, has 
passed. Winter, cold and sharp and piercing, 
had come almost unawares. 

The clang of joy bells filled the air ; the flag 
waved from the castle towers. Every face 
on the Montrose estates wears a smile. The 
Duchess of Montrose has a little son. No 
king’s heart was ever stirred with a more 
passionate joy than this which now ani- 
mated the heart of the Duke of Montrose ; and 
though wild revelry, loud song, feasting and 


LEOLA. 


93 


mirth seem to awake at his bidding, there was 
also a deep gratitude to heaven for granting 
this gift, which he prized so greatly — a little 
son. 

He stood on the summit of a sloping hill, 
and looked around him with pride and delight. 

This noble domain of Montrose, how fair it 
was, and one day it would all go to his son. 

Few have ever a fairer inheritage,” he said. 

The old duchess was in ecstacies of delight, 
and Lord Lyde was a happy grandfather. 

But happiest of all was the beautiful young 
duchess. There was no happier woman in Eng- 
land than Leola Montrose. She was rich, hon- 
ored, esteemed, beloved. She had one of the 
kindest of husbands, who was devoted to her, 
and a young, beautiful, little heir. 


THE END. 


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